


Reaping

by Raynidreams



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynidreams/pseuds/Raynidreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The music calls and they must follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaping

The columns loom large and awe inspiring, encircling the circumference of the room and intermittently spacing out the darkness of the oil paintings and lush red velvet of the curtains. They're sculpted from marble, white and echoing the shade of her clothing under the aura of light. She's lying limp over the piano; stretched out across the altar. Her arms are spread either side of her body, resting on the ivories with her head tilted to one side. Beneath her hair, her face is pained – lines of suffering edged between her brow and at the corners of her lips. She appears ageless, both young and old; for her face is youthfully strong but also marked the memory of time. On the floor around the piano are swirls of colour, billowing out in a life giving, life ending explosion of light and shade. She is bound by it, her feet chained by the churning colours which entwine up her legs, holding her here.

Three approach. Two men and a woman. Two of them are as sleek as models, polished and finished to the last degree. That third is rougher and more real, even so all of them glow with the same inhuman essence.  
The come up the centre isle and approach the woman at the piano where it rests on the centre dais. They move slowly and elegantly. The smaller man and the woman pair off to either side, leaving the rugged blond male to approach it centrally. He stops to kneel before the stage, bowing his head in grief and devotion. When he stands up, there is a knife in his hands.

As he's knelt, the others have come around to mount the steps at either side of the stage. He leaps the jump in an graceful move so the trio end up simultaneously around her, with the knife bearer at her back. They come nearer and those on her sides seize her hands, forcing them to the keys. The man behind hauls her body up, keeping the knife behind her back. He gently strokes the skin at her throat with his fingertips as he comes closer with the blade.

"You need to play my angel… you need to remember. As it is nearing, as you've become… it is the time of the calling. Reap those you love, my beloved harbinger." He whispers this intimately, as if the others are not there and it's she and him alone. His voice is full of feeling.

The imprisoned woman wakes by breaths, by heart beats. Her fingers twitch under the couple's hands at her sides; the chains at her ankles chink.

Her rolling eyes are unfocused as one finger presses a note. It rings out clearly and then there's silence again.  
He leans over hear seated body to smile softly. He's shining with joy.

"More sweet one. They need to hear you."

She moans at his words and flexes fingers stiff from lack of use. Her body and mind are lost in the endlessness of time.

"Enter the stream," he continues, then places a kiss to her troubled brow. His lips press to her forehead reverently and he pauses over the contact as if loathed to let go.

She seems to take energy from his touch and her fingers trickle across the plane of keys. It produces a disjointed sound – a song in the making.

She frowns, becoming more aware. Several notes ring out, some right and some wrong.

Her head lifts from the support of his shoulder and she stares down at the keys. All she sees are dots, lots and lots of dots, and she's vaguely aware that she has to join them to make the pattern. So she tries again and this time the notes begin to trickle like a stream. She becomes intent and sweat beads at her temples and her heart thuds within her chest. The two holding her arms break away for she's now enrapt in what she's doing. She's creating notes and more notes, building and joining them into a song. The song.

Other faces have appeared at the door as she's played. Five shades from long ago. They're drawn by the music and it takes their hand, guiding them in. And as they come closer, so do their children. Then come and more, three together; a father, a son and a prophetic leader – but they've all been leaders in their time and they're as equally strong in their own ways. They ghost forward, spellbound by the song and the caller.

As the player becomes more focused, her music becomes precise and it reaches out further. It wakes dreamers and brings them forth so it's barely any time before the room's filled with people. The Opera House is once again lined with those moved to tears by the sounds, the trills - every crashing crescendo and delicate patter of scales. The walls vibrate from the music and the emotions of the people inside.

The woman on the stage is now shaking as she plays on and on, drenched in the heat of those around and the music she creates. The building itself is shimmering in the heat, becoming like a mirage through which it is possible to see grey walls and harsh strip lights… dented grates and grimy panelling. A warship smeared with fuel and blood. She plays on, and the mirage becomes less tangible; the Opera House less real and the dirty place beyond solid.

Then it all shifts again and it now shows a balcony of machines, glass screens and wires… the command post from where all orders are sent.

She's at the end of her strength as they press closer watching her play. Many, but three in particular long to run up and save her bleeding hands from the torture but they, like her are now trapped in this place.

"There must be some way out of here," she murmurs and then the Opera House is lost completely.

***

She's standing with the original three still around her and her hand hovering over a blue key.  
Behind her, he comes closer, encircling her waist with an arm and bracing her against his chest. "You have to my love…" He eases his lips against her ear then buries his face in her hair. Wretchedly he whispers, 'I'm sorry."  
She turns the key and screams at the same time as the knife bearer sinks it into her belly.

***

Kara wakes with a silent scream in her throat and sits up in bed, taking breaths until her hands stop shaking. When she's calmed down, she drops back and lifts them. The ends of her fingers are bleeding.


End file.
